


The First of Many

by crushing83



Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M, affair, b4td, cowboy, showmanship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushing83/pseuds/crushing83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Hoynes before oil and politics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First of Many

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [24 October 2005](http://38gnihsurc.livejournal.com/10114.html). For the Before the District ficathon, at [b4td](http://b4td.livejournal.com/).

Earlier that day, his father called to remind him that he had to start acting like the oil tycoon he was going to become in a few years, that he had to start attending the board meetings, that he had to start taking an active interest in the company. 

"Johnny," the stern man said over the phone. "It is time for you to give up on your frivolous dream and start acting like the Hoynes heir!"

He hated that his father still called him Johnny; it made him feel small, like he was still ten years old. 

It wasn't until he was down in his 'frivolous dream,' the farm he shared with a friend for the breeding and training of quarter horses, that he started to feel like a man again. 

The feeling of freedom came in tiny pieces, with each step he took after that. 

When he took one of his horses out and clipped a set of crossties to the sides of his halter, the knot in his stomach loosened a little. When he started with the curry comb, scrubbing in strong circles, and finished with a dandy brush, smoothing with forceful flicks, his shoulders felt looser, too. After hoofpick and splint boots, he looked forward to what was coming next. 

He picked a saddlepad and then took his favourite working saddle off of the rack in the tack room. The leather was no longer an oak colour, and was bordering on burgundy. The silver plate on the back of the cantle was so scratched he could barely make out his name in the engraved scripting. The stitching around the horn was unraveling. But the stirrup leathers were soft, the tree was strong, and the seat was wide enough for both horse and rider. 

After putting the saddle onto the horse's back and tightening the cinch, he put his favourite spurs on---the ones marked with an ornate 'J' on each side---and then he picked a bridle up off of one of the nearby racks. The shanked bit was almost a snaffle, except it had a small, spooned port in the middle; seemingly severe, but safe when connected to his hands by the well-worked leather reins. 

The outdoor arena welcomed him; the trail elements in the centre enticed him. After a light workout---jog, trot, extended trot, jog, haunches in, lope, haunches in, cornering to the centre, cornering to the rail, all in both directions---he slowed and turned to the elements in the centre. 

First, the gate. Second, the jog-over poles. Third, the three-sixty box. Fourth, the gate. Fifth, the sidepass in both directions. Sixth, the L-shaped back-through. 

It took a couple of hours, but the tension did drain from his body. He returned to the main barn, to see students preparing for a lesson and students finishing a lesson; he barely paid them any attention as he untacked his horse. But, when he put the wool cooler on the horse's body and walked away, he had to move around them to get to the viewing room for coffee. 

Jackson, his partner, came inside the room after he did. John greeted him with a smile. 

"How'd she go?"

"Just fine," John replied quietly. "She'll be ready for the show."

"Are you going to be able to go?" Jackson asked, eyebrows raised as he washed his hands at the sink. 

"I... I will be."

"Suzanne just called," he said. "She said your father called after you left---"

John started to feel his back tighten as Jackson talked. He knew Jackson wasn't relaying the message to be cruel or to sever his ties to his life-long love. But, his muscles still tightened.

He knew he was being pulled in two directions; he wanted to do what he loved, his father and wife wanted him to do what was expected of him. He hated the conflict. He hated not feeling in control of his life---that was why he abstained from alcohol, and why he fought expectation every step of the way. 

Jackson left to teach his lesson after passing the phone message on. John called Suzanne and told her that he was going to stay down in the barn for a while and do some paperwork. Then, he left the viewing room and locked himself in his office. 

He didn't do any paperwork; he sat in the ratty chair behind his desk and stared off into space. It took a couple of minutes to realise that someone was knocking quietly. 

The girl behind the door was one of his students. Danielle looked up at him through the opening in the doorway, wearing little makeup and a sweet smile that betrayed her wit and sarcasm. 

"You've decided to come and ride today," he commented. "Are you trying to impress me?"

She smirked. That was better, he silently decided as he stepped back from the door and let her inside. "I thought you were already impressed with me."

"I'm impressed with how you fake your way through your lessons."

"Well, that's a start," she replied, closing the door. 

"Did you want something?"

She shrugged, her long blonde ponytail shaking and brushing her shoulders. He noticed how freckled that skin was. She asked him about an upcoming show; he told her he hoped to be there. She asked about her showmanship; he chuckled. 

"What's so funny?"

"You've got a lot of work to do for showmanship," he told her. 

"What---"

She stopped talking when he took her arms in his hands. With movement, his hands suggested that she bend her elbows. "These have to stay like this," he said, when her hands and arms were how he wanted. "Firm. Not like limp noodles."

"Yeah, but---"

"And," he interrupted, releasing her arms and moving behind her. "Your back," he continued as his fingers brushed along her spine. "Has to be straight and your shoulders have to be opened."

"Like the view back there?" she teased. 

"No, I don't," he told her, not taking the playful bait. "And your chin..." he moved back around to her front. His fingers trailed from her freckled shoulder to underneath her chin. He tipped her chin up. She stared into his eyes, daring him to do something; he wasn't sure what it was, except that it was so different from the silent dares his father sent his way. Danielle's dare was welcoming. "It has to stay up. And your eyes... have to be open."

"They're open," she said quietly. 

"And in lessons, you usually let me see what's painted on their lids," he shot back quietly. 

"I'm a teenager. I like make up."

"This is a barn."

"So? I like make up."

He smiled at her remark. His fingers didn't stray from her chin; they wanted to for a moment, but something else suppressed the move. 

Danielle smiled. "We should have showmanship lessons every day this week," she suggested. 

"How does your mother feel about that?"

"My mother wants me to win high point," she replied. "She didn't spend twenty thousand on a horse for me to lose it."

"Then we should have showmanship lessons every day this week," John said quietly. 

"How's every morning before school?" she suggested. 

"Don't you have class?"

"Before school," she reminded him with a little chuckle. "Besides, it's graduation week. And I am in no danger of failing finals, so I can be a little late."

He nodded and watched her carefully. When she smirked, he felt his blood pumping harder. She raised an eyebrow. "Do you like where my chin is?" she asked quietly.

He didn't consciously form a response in his head. He felt his body temperature rise, he felt something course through his system. And then his mouth opened and words were whispered. 

"It could be a little higher."

She took that as an invitation; he wasn't entirely sure he meant it as one, but he did not complain when she stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and his arms responded by wrapping around her body. 

His mind was racing down several different paths as the kiss continued: was he in love with Suzanne? was he sacrificing his passion? was he ruining his future? was she more trouble than he could manage? was she another escape that would grant him some shred of peace of mind?

The answers didn't matter; he still broke the kiss and reached out and locked the office door. When he turned back to her, she was toying with the button on her Wranglers. He grinned and walked to her, walked away from the questions. 

They barely undressed, removing only what they needed to satisfy their needs. She tugged the scrunchie out of her hair, and threw it onto the floor before he pulled her down onto the sofa. She straddled his lap and demanded more kisses; he gave them until he needed to breathe. 

"Condom," she croaked. The word startled him, reminding him how mature she was for eighteen years, reminding him that he had to be more responsible. 

"In my desk," he whispered. "Top drawer."

She smirked with swollen lips. "Been planning this?"

He hadn't. He told her so. He didn't tell her that they were remnants of the early period of his relationship with Suzanne. She laughed and kissed him again, before getting up and finding one in the desk drawer.

She returned with an eager expression on his face. Once he pushed into her, burying his problems deep inside of her, she whimpered and whispered his name into his neck. He growled and threaded his hand through her hair, guiding her head back up for another kiss. 

She gave him time to be himself: a man, a trainer and coach---not an oil fortune heir, nor a dutiful husband to a debutante. He took that time enthusiastically. 

He didn't say her name when he tightened and found release inside of her. She said his when she found her own release, while digging her nails into his clothed shoulders. He kissed her to make her words stop; he didn't need them. She leaned into the kiss as their systems levelled off. 

The tension and anger were gone. He wasn't what everyone else wanted him to be. In those few minutes with that girl, he was himself again. She didn't care for politics of the oil industry; she didn't need him to turn in the best social circles. She wanted him to find her attractive, and that seemed to be it. 

He leaned back against the cushions. She smiled and brushed her fingers over his lips. "That was fun," she whispered. "We should have showmanship lessons more often."

"The next one," he told her, trying to sound as firm as he could manage. "Will be in the arena, with your horse. We will be fully clothed. This---" he said with a wave of his hands to gesture between the two of them "---isn't going to help you win."

"Yeah, but you'll be watching my ass more often now."

He chuckled and helped her up. They tidied up as best as they could, and then she left his office. He closed his eyes and sighed. The reality of his situation would eventually crash down upon him. He didn't know if he was ready for all that would follow.

Once he was approaching the house, he felt nervous. Suzanne was waiting in the sitting room. She smiled and he kissed her cheek. 

"Did you have fun playing cowboy?" she asked. 

The tension returned; however, he knew he'd always have an escape from now on in stolen moments in secret places.

The End!


End file.
